


4 Times John Saw Through Sherlock's Disguises + 1 Time He Didn't

by everybodylies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodylies/pseuds/everybodylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, nervous? No, couldn't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Times John Saw Through Sherlock's Disguises + 1 Time He Didn't

Sherlock's always enjoyed the idea of hiding in plain sight. It's… poetic, almost. Hiding where everyone and no one can see you at the same time. Plus, it's much easier to observe someone's true nature if they don't know they're being watched.

One desperately boring and caseless Sunday afternoon, he can no longer stand the stagnant living room, and he heads out in frustration, but not before making a visit to his closet. He masquerades as a homeless man outside the flat, leaning casually against the fence, holding a cup out for donations. Face obscured by a scruffy beard and scraggly hair, he is most certainly unrecognizable.

The passerby pay him no attention, but he's not yet satisfied with his disguise.

He takes some time to practice observing. The businessman chattering to the bluetooth in his ear with an adulterous wife. The young teenage girl on her way to buy a pregnancy test. And, most tragically, the old sickly and pale man who throws a coin into Sherlock's cup with untreatable cancer.

And then Mrs. Hudson walks by, on her way back from the hairdresser's, and Sherlock goes up to her, looks her straight in the eye and asks for change in his best Irish accent. She hands him a coin and enters the building, not giving him a second glance. Sherlock suppresses a smile, pleased that his disguise is effective.

He spends a few more minutes on the street and is about to go in, when he spots John coming his way carrying two full bags of groceries. Another test, then. He stands, arm outstretched with cup in hand as John walks by, heading straight for the door without realizing. Not surprising. Successful again.

John stands by the door, trying to get out his keys without having to put down the groceries, and fails. He sighs, and after a moment, says,

"Sherlock, could I get a little help with the door here?" It takes Sherlock a few seconds to recognize that John's talking to him. "… Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mouth drops open, and he pulls off his beard forcefully. "How'd you know it was me?"

John turns around and rolls his eyes. "Well, first of all, that's my jumper that you're wearing under that disgusting coat of yours… wait are you implying that I wear the same type of clothing as homeless people? Sherlock!" But Sherlock isn't listening anymore. If John could see through the disguise, that meant it wasn't good enough. Improvement would be needed.

He's drawn from his thoughts by John's annoyed tone. "Sherlock! The door?"

\--

This time he makes sure that every article of clothing he wears comes from his own closet. There's a nice place just outside of John's work where the homeless frequently loiter, and he settles down to wait.

He's still disguised as a homeless person because, well, creativity has never been his strong suit.

Eventually John walks by, and Sherlock forces himself to relax. John almost seems to slow down as he approaches, as if he's walking through molasses. Sherlock's muscles tense as his heart speeds up. Sherlock Holmes, nervous? No, couldn't be.

John doesn't look at Sherlock at all, and Sherlock can feel himself preparing for victory, when John opens his mouth and sends all of Sherlock's hopes crashing to the ground.

"Nice try, Sherlock."

"What!" Sherlock exclaims loud enough to wake the other homeless man dozing on a nearby bench. "How?"

John sighs. "Well, when you're forced to do someone's laundry, you find yourself growing increasingly familiar with their wardrobe."

"I don't force you to do my laundry," Sherlock objects.

"Well, no, but you never do it yourself. And what am I supposed to do? Just let you wear dirty unwashed clothes around everywhere?"

"Yes!"

John chuckles and shakes his head pityingly. "Better luck next time," he says, turning around and heading for work.

\--

It turns out that watching John go on dates is actually quite boring when they're not simultaneously trying to track down a notorious ring of Chinese mobsters. How disappointing. He turns to his right and lets his mind wander, observing the other people having dinner in the restaurant. The couple on the verge of getting divorced. The son trying to weasel his way into his mother's will. The family celebrating the daughter's good grades.

And when he turns back he finds John a lot closer than he remembered.

Involuntarily, he jumps in his seat. John puts his hands on his hips, an annoyed look on his face.

"Sherlock, stop stalking me."

Sherlock rips his mustache off in anger. "But how? I bought entirely new clothes! I even got tinted contacts."

John is clearly not in the mood to explain. "Leave. _Please_. I'm on a date for God's sake."

They stare at each other for a several seconds. "You know, I've every reason to believe that your date is the murderer we've been looking for," Sherlock says.

"Now!"

Grumbling, Sherlock throws some money onto the table and stalks out of the restaurant, baffled as to why John's the only one he can't fool.

\--

He turns onto Baker Street and pulls up to the sidewalk. He already knows where the black-clad man and woman are going before they tell him.

"Highgate Cemetery, please," John says.

He sneaks peeks at John through the mirror as often as he can without drawing suspicion. The utterly defeated look on John's face makes Sherlock's heart feel heavy. This wasn't part of the plan. John wasn't supposed to be so affected. They'd only been friends a year and a half after all.

And now he knows that this was a mistake because all he wants to do is take off his hat and his facial hair and make John smile again. It's extremely difficult for Sherlock to keep his eyes on the road and not drive into a ditch.

Finally they arrive at the cemetery and Mrs. Hudson exits the cab while John digs out his wallet. Sherlock turns around, beard itching like crazy, and, _God_ , he can't help it, looks right into John's eyes as their hands touch.

He waits, as he takes the money, waits for that familiar "Nice try, Sherlock," or "I can't believe you, Sherlock." It has to be coming. Sherlock's never been able to fool John before.

But it doesn't come. John's eyes are cold and unfocused, practically dead. It's no surprise that he doesn't see the truth.

John exits the cab without a word.

Sherlock watches as John and Mrs. Hudson walk up the hill to the grave and thinks of his and John's first case together. The cabbie was right, it seemed.

"Just the back of a head," Sherlock murmurs to himself.

\--

He's back in London for the first time in two years, hot on the trail of one of Moriarty's last henchmen. It's risky being back, he knows, which is why he's taken every precaution. Professionally made wigs and a completely new wardrobe.

On the third day, he's heading back to his flat after a long day of tailing his subject when he sees a familiar face walking towards him. It was inevitable, he knew, but it still didn't prepare him for the wave of emotions that overcomes him.

At first, he's overjoyed. It's odd; he's never really "missed" anyone before. But it's been two long years and he's missed John even more than he's missed his cigarettes. His spirits fall, though, when he nears John and gets a closer look at the man.

John looks practically the same as he did when Sherlock last saw him at the graveyard. Drained and depressed, like he has nothing to live for anymore. This was not part of the plan. Not at all. Sentiment, it seemed, was ruining everything.

They're only seconds away from passing each other, and Sherlock thinks, maybe it's time, maybe it's safe. But his rational side shuts that thought down. No, Moriarty's men are still out there, and if they're still out there, then there is still a threat. And any threat at all is unacceptable.

Keeping his mouth closed and his eyes averted is the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

They pass each other, and Sherlock chokes down a breath as he feels his heart hammering in his chest.

 _Go back!_ a tiny part of him screams. _Go back!_

He keeps on walking.

.

.

.

And then he hears footsteps. Rapid, like someone's running—no, sprinting.

Before he can react, he's pulled forcefully to the side and slammed against a wall.

"You!" John screams. "You… bastard!"

"How could you tell?" he doesn't ask. "What gave it away?" he doesn't ask. Because, for once in his life, it doesn't matter.

"I'm sorry," he says. John's fuming, but he can weather John's anger for as long as it takes. Because now he's back and nothing else matters anymore. Finally, finally, _finally_ , he's back, and for some reason that makes everything okay again.

He grabs John's arm and pulls him into a nearby alleyway. "Now let's get you inside before someone tries to shoot you." And after a moment, adds, "I should probably call Lestrade. And Mrs. Hudson."

**Author's Note:**

> So that whole What if Sherlock was the cabbie in The Reichenbach Fall? idea is stolen straight from Tumblr. Hope you liked it!


End file.
